Twas The Night Before Lassiet
by Loafer
Summary: See what I did there? I put Lassiet right in the TITLE. Christmas one-shot set early during the events of S5, after Yin and the clock tower and before Declan's appearance.


**Disclaimer**: I am not Santa Claus.  
><strong>Rating<strong>: T  
><strong>Summary<strong>: See what I did there? I put Lassiet right in the TITLE. Christmas one-shot set early during the events of S5, after Yin and the clock tower and before Declan's appearance. I missed my Christmas deadline, but you can always put off reading it until next year.

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He didn't particularly like jazz, and he knew Kenny G was often mocked—although he had never cared enough to find out why (something about the crazy hair?)—and so it had taken him a long time to get around to listening to the Christmas album his sister gave him a few years back.

Tonight he lay stretched out on his sofa, sipping slowly from a glass of fine Scotch, and when "Auld Lang Syne" began to play, he felt himself drifting along, hypnotized by the smooth flow of the sax, the way the arrangement focused on both the passage of time and the sense of hope, and after half an hour he realized he'd hit replay six times.

It was making him think about his life, which he supposed was inevitable, about the years behind him, the people who'd gone away… and the ones who were still there by choice.

People like his partner. His best friend. His confidant, when he dared. His challenger. His greatest supporter, and his conscience when he'd temporarily misplaced his own.

That they were all the same person surprised him for only a moment.

That he loved her didn't surprise him at all.

That he was alone here by the light of a Christmas tree she'd badgered him into putting up, listening to "Auld Lang Syne" performed by a musician who seemed to be slicing open his psyche effortlessly—and with a sax of all things—well, that hardly rated on the Surprise-O-Meter.

The lights were pretty. He'd insisted on multi-colored twinklers, silver garland and minimal ornaments. _She'd_ insisted on more ornaments, more blue lights (they were cops, after all), and a velvety red tree skirt.

The skirt was unnecessary, he reminded her, since he wouldn't be getting any presents to put there. She only smiled.

Of course he'd gotten her a gift; they always exchanged Christmas gifts, but this morning when he'd put his on her desk, she said with a bright smile that she would stop by his place later to drop his off, if that was okay.

It was nearly always okay to see her any damned time she wanted to see him, and even when it wasn't okay, he never regretted seeing her.

But it was nearly ten p.m. now, so she wasn't coming. He hit replay again on Kenny G, and took another sip of his _other_ Scottish buddy.

She was with friends, perhaps the Spencers and Gusters, perhaps even out with a date. He didn't ask a lot of questions about her personal life, but remained relieved that she hadn't succumbed to Spencer's dubious charms.

Yet. The man-child was persistent, he'd give him that much.

Since the night Juliet had nearly died at the hands of Yin, and since she'd returned to work, he'd come to understand how much, exactly, he needed her in his life, and how much, exactly, he was willing to accept was just enough to get by on.

For her part, she seemed to have grown up a little. No, he amended, not that. More like she'd lost a little of her perpetual sunny nature. She still shone, but she was… he tried to find the right word. Less innocent? Not jaded, not yet anyway. He'd never let her become like him—he'd see to that even if meant cutting her loose some day to find a more human partner.

But she had gained something with the loss of that innocence: a seemingly keener sense of what was really important, and what would last. That wasn't so bad; it merely deepened the hue of her golden glow. No… aura? _No, Lassiter, that's not your kind of vocabulary_.

While he was still trying to settle on the right phrase, there came a buzzing of his phone, and a message which read _Merry Christmas, Carlton. You still up?_

He rejected "duh" in favor of: _It's not Christmas yet, and I never sleep._

_Well haul yourself to the front door, because Santa's here early_.

Feeling warmer already, he swung his legs off the sofa and lurched in the right direction, setting the glass down along the way.

"Wow," he managed when he opened the door. "You _are_ Santa. Or one of the elves, anyway."

Juliet grinned. A fetching elf indeed, she wore a set of fuzzy antlers, silver bells around her neck, and a long red coat, but more interestingly, over her shoulder she carried a large red and white sack which seemed to be full.

"Sorry I'm so late. It _isn't_ too late, is it?"

"No, of course not." He stood back so she could pass, adding, "Besides, Santa's got a long list of deliveries more deserving than _me_."

After slipping off her coat—revealing dark green tights under a black skirt and green top and perfectly maintaining the elf motif—Juliet paused to admire the twinkling tree for a moment. "Actually you're number one this year." Smiling at the tree, she said happily, "We did a good job, didn't we?"

As if it were her tree too… and he was completely charmed by the idea.

"Oh, and I brought my present from you over."

Great, now he'd have to be embarrassed if she didn't like it or thought it was ridiculous.

To keep her from noticing his sudden fear, he deflected with, "What's really in the bag?"

"Christmas," she said simply, and started pulling wrapped packages out.

Carlton stood back as they piled up on his coffee table, counting six of varying sizes before she stopped.

Giving him another of those bone-melting dazzling smiles, she gestured toward his kitchen. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink?"

"Oh, sorry, yes—what would you like?"

"Something with alcohol, of course. Wine? Or whatever's in your glass." Picking it up, she took a sip (and he felt an instant ripple because _damn, it was unbearably if unintentionally erotic_) and held it out to him after. "That'll do."

"Wine," he said firmly, and she laughed as he left to get them both a glass.

When he returned to the living room, she was on the sofa, feet up, watching the twinkling lights and still looking beautiful and quite pleased with herself.

He sat at the other end after handing over her glass, but she got up and moved closer, in front of the pile of gifts. To the side lay his gift to her. He really wished she wasn't going to open that in front of him.

"I should warn you," she said after a sip of wine, "that most of these aren't exactly… _serious_ gifts. But I did choose them all with you, and _only_ you, in mind."

Now he was even more worried about what he'd gotten her. It was… a little bit serious.

She thrust the first package at him. "This one." There was a gleam in her eyes.

Carlton gave her his steeliest look: the one which could make six-foot-five Buzz McNab scurry, Burton Guster flat-out run, dyed-in-the-wool criminals confess in under ten seconds—and yet which was currently making Juliet O'Hara smirk, because she had no fear of him at all.

He removed the wrapping as slowly as possible, driving her a little bonkers (which was the point), and found a t-shirt inside.

Holding it up, he had her laughter to accompany his reading. _Dances With Squirrels_ was emblazoned under the screen print of a half-dozen cavorting little demonic furred rats.

"You, O'Hara, are an evil woman."

But a lovely one, as she went on laughing. "Now this one!"

It was a small square box, about the size of—no, she wouldn't _dare_ get him a snowglobe. Shuddering despite himself, he removed the paper.

Inside the cardboard container—in fact it was a Chinese food carton—was another, decidedly rumpled, t-shirt.

"O'Hara," he admonished. "Really?"

This one only had text: _I Can't Talk Now; The Squirrels Are Watching_.

Juliet leaned back against the cushions, unsuccessfully holding back titters. "I'm sorry, but it just screamed _you_!"

"It won't be me doing any screaming," he muttered, and he meant the furry-tailed bastards, but Juliet's eyes widened and her expression became very interesting.

They both reached for their wine glasses at the same time, and Carlton felt quite odd… but not a _bad_ kind of odd.

Kenny G was settling into "I'll Be Home For Christmas," and squirrel tees or not, this did all seem like home.

"One more and then I'll open mine," she suggested.

This package was shaped like a bottle and for a moment he had hopes it was enough wine to dive into… but unwrapped, it proved to contain only another tee, well and truly jammed inside.

Juliet was practically on the floor, so amused was she with her selections.

He grinned after he pulled it out and held it up. "Now that's more like it!" It was a mug shot of a hardened squirrel. "'_Wanted in five neighborhoods on seventeen counts of larceny_'—damn straight we need to get the word out." He got up, strode out of the room and shucked off his old Academy tee to wear this one instead, and when he got back, Juliet had her phone in hand and immediately snapped a photo.

"Perfect!" She beamed at the image, and then up at him.

"Doubtful." He hadn't shaved today and this new tee was considerably wrinkled from having been stuffed inside the bottle.

"You always look good," she argued, setting the phone down. "Okay, except when you're about to kill someone standing between you and coffee, because that's always a little scary."

He looked good to her? Well... well…

Well.

"You look scary too under those circumstances, O'Hara."

"That's fair. Okay now mine." She tucked her shapely green-clad legs up under her and took the flat box, studying the tag briefly.

"It's your name, isn't it?" Lame joke, he knew.

"It's just nice to see _Juliet_," she explained, and he flushed, but hoped the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree helped conceal it. He hadn't thought to turn on any other lights when she arrived, but with her in the room, who needed extra light?

_Yeah, 'poet,' and maybe you and your Scotch bonded a little _too_ well tonight._

The gift paper fell away and the tissue wrapping followed and his heart started pounding.

Juliet smiled as she took a sudden breath. "Oh, Carlton."

He'd had a plaque made for her. Small enough to put on a stand, big enough to hang on a wall, and easy to throw away discreetly or smash into bits if she so desired, the dark cherry wood bore a brass plate onto which he'd had engraved a few key words:

_Juliet O'Hara  
><em>_Damn Good Cop.  
><em>_Best Partner Ever.  
><em>_2006-_

He knew Spencer would mock it even if she didn't, but then again, when _didn't_ Spencer mock—his thoughts were interrupted by an armful of Juliet as she suddenly burrowed against him, snuffling. "Thank you so much."

_Ah, hell_… she smelled so good, and she was so soft, and he let his arms settle around her.

"You're welcome, and it's true." His voice was husky, dammit.

Juliet sighed, her breath warm against his throat. "You're the best. In every way."

He felt hot suddenly, and had to deflect. "I'm the luckiest, maybe, to have you as my partner, but as for being the best, that's only at shooting. And profiling. And squirrel-loathing."

The vibration of her laughter tickled his skin. "You're the best man I know, Carlton. Now open your other gifts." She sat up, brushing hair off her cheeks, and her color was high and he wished he could always see her just like this.

"This one's a tiny bit more serious." She seemed guileless, and indeed the festive envelope contained a gift certificate to a new shooting range on the west edge of town, one they'd discussed checking out.

"Excellent. You're coming with me, right?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, duh."

"And you know you've already given me quite enough gifts for one year, right? Maybe even for next year too?"

"Pah. Keep going."

She sipped wine while he opened a triangle-shaped box, and giggled when he pulled out another t-shirt.

He had to laugh too, at the squirrels lined up on a tree limb looking panicked. "'_It's all fun and games until somebody loses a nut_.' Good Lord, O'Hara, where did you find all these?"

"Online, of course! I've been shopping for weeks. That one's my favorite. Now the last one, and I promise it is _not_ a t-shirt."

The box was small and flat. He was dubious. "It's not a pressed squirrel, is it?"

"Carlton, eew! No. It's much nicer." She hesitated. "I… I really hope you like it."

Her tone had changed, and he glanced at her; what on earth could _she_ be uncertain about now?

"I know I will," he assured her, and thought it was probably his imagination that she scooted a bit closer to him.

Paper off, he lifted the lid. No squirrels or facsimiles in sight. A rich cream envelope lay on satiny gold cloth, and inside the envelope was another gift certificate, this one for a restaurant with a reputation he could only describe as romantic.

For dates.

For… lovers.

Carlton felt her intake of breath—it matched his own—but her gaze was still on the box.

Underneath where the envelope had lain was something else he recognized all too well: a sprig of mistletoe, vibrant green against the gold satin.

Every nerve ending tingled. Neither one of them seemed to be breathing; for damned sure he knew _he_ wasn't.

"Auld Lang Syne" started—damn that random play feature, bringing this hypnotic song up right now—and he let out the breath he'd been holding. "Juliet?"

Perhaps, in its simplicity, the most important question he'd ever asked.

Her voice was small but still confident, as was the smile playing across her lovely, lovely features. "You were going to kiss me, weren't you?"

Perhaps, in its simplicity, the most devastating question _she'd_ ever asked.

And was there even the slightest chance of any answer other than the one he gave?

With his heart pounding as the tree twinkled and Kenny G egged him on, and with everything seeming as perfect as it could possibly be… until he actually leaned in to kiss her?

No. There was no chance of any other answer, and he turned out to be wrong, because all previous definitions of 'perfect' faded once his lips touched hers and she kissed him back.

With an anxious little sound, she pressed close to him and he wrapped around her, tasting her and the wine and the promises being made with each passing second.

Best Christmas ever, even if she left now and never spoke to him again.

Best. _Ever_.

Juliet pulled back and looked up at him, breathless—but didn't move out of his grasp. In fact, her arms snaked around him and she got even closer. "Is this really okay?"

Oh… he sighed, tracing a line along her warm soft cheek, which made her tremble. "Do I hate squirrels?"

Her smile was wide and gorgeous and she kissed him, and he went blind and deaf and became hers entirely.

She certainly thought he was going to say _we shouldn't, we're partners, we can't, you're crazy_, _but… but…_

But nothing.

_Why not, so what, we are, I'm crazy too_—now those were things he might say tonight, after Kenny G patiently priming him for an utterly magical moment like this.

Well, Kenny and the Scotch. But mostly it had been the song, overlaying years of loving this particularly wonderful woman.

Eventually, her head came to rest on his shoulder, and that was perfect too. She held the plaque up to read it again and said softly, "This was a big year for me. After the clock tower, after I stepped back to try to deal with it, I started seeing things I hadn't seen before."

He didn't say anything, sensing she had more.

"I began to evaluate what was important. What was necessary. To me and to my life as a cop as well as a woman. No… a _person_."

"The finest person," he murmured.

Juliet patted his chest after setting the plaque down, letting her hand linger over his heart. "I started seeing _you_, Carlton. The man you are behind the glaring. I mean… I started seeing how you were with me. When it was just us. I always knew you were the most decent of men, especially after a good cup of coffee—" She paused to kiss his smiling face. "But after you rescued me—and I don't mean the actual moment of you rescuing me, but later, at dawn, when you let me fall apart on you—I started seeing _you_."

He studied her face, searching her eyes, wondering what she really had seen.

"And I started seeing… us."

Those chills were back.

"Or the possibility of us, anyway. I knew you'd be a tough nut to crack, and besides I still had to put some distance between me and Yin."

"I haven't asked you in awhile," he said soberly, feeling regret. "How you were doing. You seemed to be back but I should have asked."

"You didn't need to, because you read me right: I am back. I'm not the same, but I'm back. And I'm here, Carlton."

Her hair was soft against his fingertips. "But are you sure _this_ is the best place for you to be?"

"It's the only place," she said with certainty. "Here with you, in front of our tree. Our first Christmas tree."

Dammit, she was going to make him cry.

Reaching up to stroke his cheek, and surely feeling the heat there, she kissed him gently and again settled against his chest. "I'd have been here sooner but I was worried you'd fight me on this."

"I had several glasses of Scotch before you came over," he pointed out.

"Oh, I see. Very flattering." But she was amused, and still lay close against him. "Play that song again? I love this CD."

He found the remote and restarted "Auld Lang Syne," knowing he'd have to marry her as soon as possible.

"And I love you too," she added softly.

Carlton scooped her into his lap and she went willingly, aglow with happiness he was sure he reflected right back at her.

Kissing her until they were both a bit senseless, he whispered his love against her temple and followed it with "Merry Christmas."

The squirrels looked on, and Kenny G played on, and the tree twinkled and Santa, out somewhere beginning his annual run, was well-pleased with this Christmas miracle indeed.

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